“We managed,” Kyrin replied.
The group around her grew quiet. They still had grave news to share. So many had counted on Elon’s intervention in this fight. Would they stand strong in the face of what seemed like a devastating defeat?
Rayad stepped up. “Is the king inside?”
Talas nodded. “In the keep with General Mason.”
“We must speak with him.”
Leaving the dragons, the entire group entered the fortress. In the war room, Balen stood with General Mason and his officers. Trask and the rest of their group were also present. All eyes turned to them, their expressions lighting when they saw Jace. Those from Landale hurried to meet them. Jace greeted each one, smiling at their enthusiasm. He found it incredible how much he would miss them if they were no longer part of his life. People had never meant so much to him. Only those few he had allowed into the deepest place of his heart.
The joy of the reunion, however, had to end. They had no time to dally with the rest of the news they carried.
“As you all can see, Jace is alive and well, thank Elôm,” Rayad said. He hesitated. “But we also bring grave news as well.”
He motioned to Timothy, who was the most knowledgeable and capable of explaining what had happened to Elon and why. Complete silence engulfed the hall as he spoke. He started out strong, but his voice wavered at the end. Even now, Jace experienced the pain of watching Elon die. Stunned faces turned to expressions of deep sadness as everyone took the news in their own way. The soldiers were more stoic than most, though their eyes expressed their emotions. Balen braced himself against the table, his head bowed. A quiet moment passed before Rayad spoke reluctantly.
“I’m afraid there’s more.”
Balen looked up, and then straightened to receive the rest of their news.
“Late yesterday, we caught sight of Daican’s army. At the pace they were traveling, they should arrive around midday tomorrow.”
The king cleared his throat, though his voice still came out a little hoarse. “How large a force?”
Rayad shook his head. “We couldn’t get close enough to know for sure.”
“And firedrakes?”
Rayad nodded. “We saw quite a number, but that is why we kept our distance.” He looked at Darq. “How many riders were you able to gather?”
“About eighty.” The crete captain crossed his muscular arms, his brows furrowing. “Not as many as I hoped. My people aren’t as willing to join this fight as I thought they would be.”
“They should be,” Leetra grumbled, her eyes fiery, “after what Falcor did.”
“At least some came,” Rayad said.
Darq gave a brief nod. “I’ve sent half the riders to the capital with Glynn. Including Kaden’s men, that leaves us with just over fifty here. This is where we expect to face the greatest number of firedrakes.”
Rayad agreed and looked at the king. “So we are prepared to face them?”
“As prepared as we can be.”
The moons rose into the dark sky and spilled soft light across the wall. Resting against the parapet, Jace gazed out at the Arcacian plains. Normally, he wouldn’t have chosen such a spot to go and think, but the open air and fresh breeze soothed him as he considered what had happened and what was to come. The horizon gave up no sign of Daican’s army, but it would in just hours. They would come and make their attack. What then? Even if they defeated Daican this time, how long could they hold their ground? How many would die in the effort?
Jace bowed his head and forced himself to remember that Elôm was in control of this. The outcome was already decided. However, uncertainty was an old habit and not easy to break. Raising his eyes back to the stars, Jace reached out to his King for reassurance. He was no longer afraid to die, knowing with full confidence where he would go, but it came with an intense desire to live. To make up for the years he had wasted in doubt. To experience a life of fullness. Maybe it was too late for that, but at least he wouldn’t go out in despair.
With lookouts and many of the cretes on the wall nearby, Jace gave little notice to the approach of footsteps until they stopped alongside him. He looked over, right into Kyrin’s face. Her moonlit eyes stared up at him, her lips curved with a hint of a smile.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“I was just thinking about… everything.” He smiled and shook his head. “When Rayad first rescued me, there was so much I had to get used to. It was a completely different way of life. I kind of feel that way now. Still getting used to it.”
“A lot of things changed for you in Valcré.”
“Yes.” Jace paused, wrestling with some of the emotions inside. “I’m tempted to feel guilty. Not so much about my past anymore, but how I’ve handled it.”
“You’ve suffered enough guilt. I think Elôm wants you to be free of that.”
Jace nodded and stared at her, taking note of the sparkle in her eyes and the way the breeze fluttered her hair about her shoulders. It looked so soft. He let out his breath slowly. “I’m sorry.”
Her forehead wrinkled. “For what?”
“For all the times I’ve been so difficult. I never made it easy for you to help me.”
Smiling, she shook her head. “Maybe not, but I never wanted to give up.”
“Why?” What was it that drove her so strongly to help?
“I care about you… a lot.” She shrugged and glanced down at her hands. “Something about the first time I saw you. I just didn’t want you to suffer so much. It was Elôm, I guess.”
“You’re good at imitating His love.”
Kyrin’s smile widened, but she looked away shyly. “Thanks.”
He watched her stare out past the wall. Her smile faded and left him wishing he could say something to bring it back. Finally, she looked at him. Something had changed in her eyes. Their soft glow had lost their brightness, and her expression tensed. She was afraid. Who wouldn’t be on a night like this?
“I’ll let you go back to your thinking,” she said, her voice low.
He turned to watch her walk away. He didn’t want her to go and almost called her back, but what would he say if he did? One thing that hadn’t changed in Valcré was his feelings for her. If anything, they had only deepened at the possibility of never seeing her again. Certain barriers had lifted now, but what did that mean for them? He shook his head as he turned back to the parapet. The verge of war was not a good time to sort through such things.
Jace watched the sunrise lift over the hilly horizon from his comfortable perch on Gem’s back. Aside from the cretes, he was alone. They had regarded him curiously when he’d first arrived at the break of dawn, but for the first time he gave no notice to the reactions of others. He had his own thoughts and things to ponder in the last bit of calm before the storm.
He breathed in the cool air of the new day, so fresh and yet untainted by the threat marching their way. Strange how he could feel such peace, yet be anxious. So much unknown lay ahead. With this in mind, he prayed. Looking toward the fortress, he thought of everyone inside. Some of them would die. Maybe even him.
He dropped his gaze to the writing supplies and folded parchment in his lap, bearing his simple script on the front. To my mother, Rachel, from Jace. This was the first time since Rayad had taught him to read and write that he’d had the opportunity to appreciate it. Satisfied, he packed away the supplies he’d borrowed, tucked the letter safely in his pocket, and slid down from Gem. Patting the dragon on the shoulder, he headed back to the keep.
Soldiers were up and about now, preparing, their faces set and determined. Still, Jace sensed their unease. None knew what to expect, or had experience to draw courage from. No one had attacked Samara in centuries. Not like this. War was new to all of them.
Inside the keep, Jace walked into the mess hall, where he found his friends gathered at one of the long tables. Rayad met him first. The familiar creases in his brow showed concern. Perhaps, if they both survived the coming days,
that look would no longer be so familiar.
“Sleep all right?”
Jace nodded to reassure him. “I was just up early and went out to see Gem.”
Rayad gripped his shoulder, and they took seats at the table across from Kyrin and her brothers. She smiled at him, though it lacked its usual brilliance. The weariness in it suggested that she hadn’t slept nearly as well as he had. She stood to lose so much in this fight. She had already lost so much. Jace hated to see her suffer any further grief. Spare her.
As everyone ate their breakfast, they shared stories and moments of reminiscing—memories from camp and before that. They had all come from such different walks of life. Jace looked down the table at them—a baron’s son, a one-time enemy spy, a former captain in Daican’s army, and him, a former slave and gladiator with both noble and ryrik blood. All so different, but so important to each other. Only Elôm could bring together such a mix of backgrounds and personalities.
Near the end of the meal, General Mason approached their table. “King Balen wanted me to let you know that you have full access to the armory. Whatever you need to arm yourselves, you’re free to use.”
“Thank you, General,” Trask replied.
When the general walked away, Trask looked around the table. “I guess we’d better see to that. If they do arrive by midday, we only have a few hours.”
Everyone rose.
Across from Jace, Kyrin said, “I think I’ll go see if Josef needs help with anything.”
Her unease showed even more clearly now. If only Jace could convey reassurance to her, but it was all so much bigger than that.
Everyone from Landale, including Marcus’s militia and Kaden’s riders, gathered in the large, well-stocked armory, and spread out around the tables and displays of extra armor and weaponry. Before seeking any for himself, Marcus worked his way through the men to make sure that each was properly equipped. It wasn’t quite the same as preparing his unit at Fort Rivor. The armor was mismatched, for the most part, and predominately chainmail and leather. Not the plate mail he had grown used to, but it would do. He stopped along the way to help any of the men who weren’t familiar with the process. He assisted Jeremy, one of the youngest men in his force, and gave him an encouraging clap on the shoulder in response to the nervousness in the young man’s eyes. No amount of training or sparring back at camp would take that away.
Finally, he reached Liam. His brother nodded to a well-crafted chainmail shirt lying on the table.
“Thought that would fit you.”
“Thank you.” Marcus gave him a quick smile. His brother was always thinking of him.
He swapped out his jerkin for a padded gambeson to wear under the chainmail. Satisfied with the fit, he reached for the armor, and Liam helped him slip the weighty chainmail over his head and adjust it. It had been some time since he had worn armor, but he hadn’t forgotten how heavy and hot it was, especially in such warm temperatures. Over the chainmail shirt, Liam assisted him in buckling on a tooled leather breastplate, and then a matching pair of bracers and greaves.
Marcus thanked him again and gave everything one final inspection. From the corner of his eye, he saw Liam slip off his jerkin and reach for a second gambeson. Marcus stopped him, and looked into his brother’s eyes.
“You don’t have to do this.”
Their grandfather had forced Liam to be a soldier and learn to fight against his will. Marcus would never hold him to that.
“You’ve been a great help to me in training the men, but you don’t have to take it any farther than this.”
Liam held his gaze steadily. “I know.”
He then looked down at the gambeson in silence for a few moments. When he looked back up, the conviction in his eyes matched the time he had refused the General’s direct order to whip Jace.
“I’ve never wanted to fight, but I never had a reason to before. Now there’s something to fight for and people I want to protect.” He shrugged. “I don’t know if I can do it, but I have to try.”
Marcus’s eyes burned, and he gripped Liam’s shoulder with a nod. It went against every desire to protect him and keep him away from the struggle, but he couldn’t be more proud of his brother. Of all the men here, he considered Liam the bravest for what he had to overcome to join them.
“You’re a good man, Liam,” he said, his voice thick.
Liam smiled.
Clearing his throat, Marcus reached for the gambeson and helped his younger brother suit up.
Following his older brother’s example, Kaden made sure his men were well-prepared before seeking his own equipment with Talas. The two of them picked through the pieces and each chose a leather breastplate and matching pauldrons, bracers, and greaves. They skipped the chainmail. It was too heavy and restricting to maneuver properly in the air. Besides, it wouldn’t do much good against a direct blast of fire or the powerful jaws of a firedrake anyway. Their best defense was their ability to outmaneuver their opponents.
As he worked on the side buckles of the breastplate, Kaden drew a hard breath. His heart raced, and he had trouble keeping his breakfast down. He and his men had trained for months for just such an occasion as this. Where was that preparation now? It all seemed to have vanished, and here he was supposed to be their leader. He should have all the answers and project confidence to his men. He wasn’t supposed to have this half-panicked urge to look to someone else for guidance. It all came down to the undeniable truth. He was afraid. Maybe the most he had ever been, even over facing the emperor. Something about the unknown stripped away all confidence. How was he supposed to lead when he was afraid?
Gritting his teeth, Kaden scowled as he tried to adjust the pauldron strap at his shoulder, but his fingers slipped.
“Let me help you with that.”
He looked up to find Marcus. Talas had moved off, leaving just the two of them at the table. Marcus stepped to his side and worked the buckle easily. Kaden let out another pent-up breath. He had to get a grip on his emotions. The only reason he’d struggled with the buckle in the first place was how unsteady his hands were. He clenched them, but they still trembled.
Marcus moved on to the other strap, and Kaden watched him, awed by his calm, collected expression. He acted effortlessly, as if he’d been through this a dozen times, yet he had little more experience in actually facing down an enemy than Kaden did. So how did Marcus take it so well when Kaden thought he might be sick?
Swallowing hard, Kaden cleared his voice and tried to speak casually. “Are you nervous at all?”
Marcus’s brown eyes rose to meet his. An understanding light shone in them. “Terrified.”
Kaden raised his brows, not sure he could believe it, but his brother sounded completely serious. “Really?”
Marcus nodded, picking up one of Kaden’s arm bracers. Kaden held out his arm.
“I think you’d have to have something awfully hard inside of you not to be, deep down.”
Kaden let his breath out slowly and drew it in a bit more easily.
Marcus helped him finish with his armor. Stepping back, his brother nodded in approval.
“Looks like you’re ready.”
Kaden checked his weapons—his sword and two daggers from Talas—and made certain the armor wasn’t too restricting. “I think so.”
The work done, his brother turned.
“Marcus, thanks.”
He looked back and, with a fortifying smile, gave a nod. In that brief moment, Kaden saw their father in him.
Kyrin spread out clean blankets on the last cot she and Josef had set up in the great hall, now an extension of the infirmary. Straightening, she took in the sight of all the others sitting in neat rows, but even this large number surely wouldn’t be enough for all the wounded. She pressed her hand to her aching stomach. Ever since the men had left for the armory, it had churned fitfully. Who would fill these cots in the next few days? Such a question numbed her.
“Are you all right, my dear?”
“It’s just overwhelming to think of so many getting injured or . . .” she swallowed hard, “killed.”
Josef touched a gentle, wrinkled hand to her shoulder. “It is indeed.”
Kyrin’s voice trembled. “How do you prepare yourself to lose people you love?”
“Prayer. That is the only thing I know.”
Kyrin nodded and bit her lip to hold back tears. Even with prayer, how could she ever really be prepared? The pain would never be any less great.
When someone entered the room, she didn’t know if it helped or hurt to see Jace walking towards them. He wore a chainmail shirt under his jerkin, and a pair of dark bracers. Never had he looked like such a warrior, but it wasn’t so much the armor as the way he carried himself and the confidence in his eyes. It took her breath away, considering where he had come from and his transformation. He probably didn’t even realize the extent of the change she saw in him.
He nodded to Josef, but his eyes rested on Kyrin, so blue and clear without the constant warring of doubts. “The others are heading up to the wall to watch and wait. We thought you would like to go with us.”
Kyrin looked over at Josef, and the physician said, “Go on. You’ve done a great deal here, and I am very thankful for your help.”
Kyrin smiled and joined Jace as he turned to leave the hall. Along the way, she said, “You look different.”
Jace shrugged. “I haven’t worn armor since the arenas.”
She looked up at him. How different to hear him speaking so openly about his past. If only there were time to talk and enjoy it. Tears pricked her eyes again, desperation suddenly welling inside her. Please don’t take him from me, Elôm. She worked quickly to compose herself before he noticed.
Just as they stepped out of the keep and into the courtyard, an upraised female voice drew their attention.
Samara's Peril (Ilyon Chronicles Book 3) Page 31